


It's Business

by KaiosReins



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Following a rabbit hole, Gen, R&R, Sorry Not Sorry, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29489019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiosReins/pseuds/KaiosReins
Summary: Crawford Starrick has a nieceJacob Frye wants insuranceAlternate version of Sequence 5 wherein Jacob and Attaway blurred a few lines, the Assassins learned Crawford's niece is coming to London, and the increasing violence is making them think keeping a hostage is a good idea.
Kudos: 3





	1. Letters

**Author's Note:**

> *Gasp* Whoops, I'm starting another one. This one was already in mind while I've been working on On Eden's Watch, but while I'm waiting for feedback on that I figured _Why not start a new fic_ and here we are. Same deal as always, drop some feedback if you think I can improve, or kudos if you like it as is.

_My Dearest Crawford_

_The journey from Constantinople has been surprisingly pleasant, with the keepers of Masyaf welcoming me with open arms and permitting access to the Vault there. As per instruction, the Piece remains in place there, protected by the old securities and that which we have installed. I have witnessed incredible things in Masyaf, dear Uncle, but I will not commit these things to paper lest this letter reach the wrong hands._

_I am eager to see you once again, and should arrive in London within the month, provided there are no further delays. I expect to arrive in Southwark on the Swift, no later than 3pm on Tuesday 16th April. I hope that you will be at the docks to greet me. I look forward to seeing what you have done with your control over London._

_May the Father of Understanding Guide Us_

_Lyanna_

* * *

_Darling Lyanna_

_I am pleased to hear that you were able to access the Masyaf vault, and look forward to hearing your tales of adventure. I still wish you had chosen to return by sea rather than overland; it is far more difficult to hijack a ship than it is to hijack a train or carriage, but you have always been a woman of your own will._

_I must, however, discourage you from disclosing the time and location of your arrival in future letters. There has been some minor trouble in London of late, an errant pair of Assassins who have decided to wreak havoc on the institutions we have forged and held fast for so long. I do not expect them to be trouble much longer, but still advise you to use discretion about your itinerary._

_For this same reason, I will not be there to meet you when you arrive. You will have the protection of my most skilled guardsmen, and I will speak to your Aunt Pearl about arranging a private and secure carriage for your safe transfer. I too am eager to see you once again, my dear. Family must stay close in these times._

_Until next we meet, May the Father of Understanding Guide Us_

_Crawford_

* * *

Jacob Frye sat back at his desk, reading over the two correspondences - the letter from one "Lyanna" and the reply from Starrick. The messenger, a youth with a spotted face and rat-like nose, shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other.

"Did he say anything else about these letters?" Evie asked the youth, pacing around him. Jacob turned around in the seat, lacing his fingers together.

"On'y that they was to be passed to other carriers bearing the stamp," the youth replied, "I knew I'd 'ave time to let yer see 'em, though, since the ferry's always late today."

"Good man," Jacob grinned at the youth. It had taken some months, but the Rooks had managed to implant one of Starrick's private couriers with a youth they'd recruited, and the lad had thus far proven to be nothing but an asset to their cause.

"Right, we'll we'd better make sure you don't miss that ferry," Evie remarked, "It would not do at all for Starrick to suspect you."

As Evie showed the youth out, handing him the reply from Starrick, Jacob read over the first letter again.

"What's at Masyaf?" He asked Henry, turning to him. "The name sounds familiar, but I can't recall why."

"Only the oldest Assassin stronghold in all of Europe," Henry replied, giving Jacob a surprised look, "It was used during the time of the Crusades, when the Templars were ACTUAL Knights Templar, before they were officially disbanded in the following century and went undercover. It's said that there is a vault there containing a Piece of Eden that cannot be moved, and conveys limitless wisdom to whoever holds the key to activate it."

"All of which it seems this Lyanna is in possession of," Jacob smirked as he looked at the time and date. "It looks like this Miss Lyanna will indeed be greeted at the docks, though not by the man she is hoping to meet."

"Now, Jacob, be careful," Henry warned, "There is no telling who this girl might be, and if she is brave enough to travel overland from Constantinople - alone, no less - then either she is incredibly brave, or is possessed of a combat skill that might even outmatch your own."

"What about this "Aunt Pearl"?" Jacob flicked the copy of Starrick's letter, "Do we know who she might be?"

For the briefest of moments, he thought of Pearl Attaway, the woman he had volunteered himself into a business partnership with. But no, it couldn't be her - Pearl was a common name among the elites, and he doubted Attaway would want anything to do with Starrick, since the man had done all he could to destroy her company.

"Don't worry about me, Greenie," Jacob grinned at the Indian man, "I'll be just fine! We should probably prepare a guest room, though,"

"Guest room?" Henry asked, clearly confused, "For what purpose?"

"Well, I'm not exactly going to kill this girl, am I?" Jacob teased, getting up from the chair, "She's important to Starrick. Which means that he will probably do anything to keep her safe."

"You intend to take her hostage?"

"Exactly!"


	2. Tricksters

Jacob Frye stood at the edge of the dock as the ferry _Swift_ pulled in, the dock staff tossing ropes to secure the ferry to the jetty before lowering a gangplank. He felt almost unclean in the stolen uniform, the Templar cross visible on the shoulder epaulette. His hidden blade was tucked beneath the coat sleeve, but he didn’t plan on needing it – it shouldn’t be too difficult to get Lyanna into the carriage, and from there he could easily convey her to the train where she would be kept “safe” while Starrick would surely be informed of her kidnapping.

There were several female passengers on this ferry, two of which appeared to be travelling with male partners, one that looked too old to be travelling at all, and one that had the sun-kissed skin of a lady who had spent time near the Mediterranean. That must be her, Jacob decided, though he waited as she disembarked, watching her quietly as she scanned the docks before spotting his uniform.

“Miss Lyanna?” He asked as she approached. She smiled, curtseying, and he responded with a bow, offering a hand. “Your carriage awaits, madame. I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

The young woman simply nodded, clearly choosing not to speak. Perhaps she had a strange accent, and wished to avoid the attention it might cause. Jacob led her up the steps to the roadside, where one of his Rooks, also in stolen uniform, waited with the carriage.

“Milady,” the Rook bowed as he opened the door, gesturing for Lyanna to get in, before stopping and staring at her. “Wait – Norah?”

Jacob almost swore as the woman stiffened suddenly, though she didn’t reply out loud. His Rook was surely about to give the whole gambit away, he was certain of it.

“Sir, this is me cousin! She works on the docks ‘ere!” The Rook stated, turning to Jacob. He looked at the woman again, noticing the smudge of grease on her chin, and looked down at her hands, covered by the silken gloves. Immediately, he twisted his arm, grasping the woman’s wrist.

“Is he right?” He asked. The woman looked anxiously from him to the Rook, then back at Jacob. He activated his blade, and her eyes darted downwards, seeing the weapon.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” She cried suddenly, the heavy Southwark accent audible, “’E’s right, there was a lady on the ferry when I was workin’, she wanted me to pose as ‘er and give me five quid to do it! I swear, I ain’t mean to cause trouble!”

Jacob swore, whirling around and inspecting the other females around the dock. The _Swift_ looked like it was settling in for the evening, and the workers were going about their tasks, tidying up and lugging coal onto the boat. The other passengers had already dispersed, summoning cabs and departing – and if Miss Lyanna had been one of them, she was surely gone by now.

“No need for the uniforms,” Jacob told his Rook, glancing at the imposter. “Did the woman mention why she wanted you to pretend to be her?”

“Somethin’ about playin’ a trick,” Norah shrugged, “I dunno, once she gave me the money I stopped askin’.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?” Jacob asked, letting go of Norah’s arm. The woman grinned.

“As if I could forget that face. Look of the devil, she ‘ad about ‘er. Curly reddish hair, green eyes, looked Irish but when she spoke it was a weird half-mix of accents, and I swear at one point she sounded French or somethin’.”

“I can remember what the other cabs looked like, Mr Frye,” the Rook piped up, “And which way they went. We could chase ‘em all down.”

“I don’t think she took a cab, Johnny,” Norah told her cousin, “She said I just ‘ad to get in the carriage and leave the docks.”

“So she might still be around, waiting for us to leave,” Jacob realised. He fought the urge to look around the area again, instead smiling and bowing to Norah. “My most sincere apologies for this confusion,” he said, as charming as he could be. “Shall we depart, then?”

“Sir?” The Rook looked at him, clearly confused, but Jacob didn’t feel the need to explain to him just yet. He could see other Rooks clustered nearby, though – perfect for keeping a lookout.

“We don’t need to go far,” he told the Rook, after Norah had climbed into the carriage and settled herself in, playing along. “We just need to be out of sight. If this young mistress thinks she can trick us, she’s about to be proven wrong.”


	3. Stalking

Back in more appropriate clothing, Jacob watched the workers on the docks closely, scanning each of them for the features Norah had described. Unfortunately, most of the youth on the jetty had red hair of some sort, and being able to tell their skin tone was almost impossible beneath the grease and coal dust that seemed to cover them all.

Whoever this Lyanna was, she was _brilliant_ – such a strategy for evading detection and possible assassination was impressive, especially since it had almost worked. If not for a mere chance accident, they would have been back at the train by now with the wrong girl, and Miss Lyanna the Templar would likely be with her “Dearest Starrick”.

To his surprise – and frustration – Jacob heard a shout and glanced down to see a large group of Blighters had appeared suddenly, immediately zeroing in on the four or five Rooks that had been hanging around since he’d shown up. Sensing that a fight was about to happen, Jacob put two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly – the “clear out” signal. The Rooks, who had already turned to face the Blighters, looked around for the source of the signal. One of them spotted Jacob quickly, though, and called to the others. The group quickly departed, and although some of the Blighters gave chase, most of them remained near the docks, spreading out to cover more ground. Were they here to help this Lyanna escape, or was it mere chance that had brought them this way?

Then, he spotted it – the boat’s deck lighting shone off sun-bleached red hair, and although the clothing was baggy and the skin covered in grit, Jacob could still spot the unmistakeably feminine physique beneath the loose dock worker clothing.

He scaled down the side of the building, keeping the figure in his sights as she approached the Blighters, then passed directly by them, not sparing them a second glance. Jacob kept to the shadows of the building he had been spying from, watching as she strolled across the street, then around the corner – and he quickly began to follow her.

The girl seemed unaware of him tailing her as she passed down an alleyway, through a laneway, and then out into a large plaza. Workers were moving in all direction with the change of shift, and Jacob almost lost sight of her as she wove through the mess of people, making her way towards Waterloo Station.

“Perfect,” Jacob muttered – that was exactly where he had told Agnes to wait for him. If this girl was heading there, getting her onto the train wouldn’t be difficult at all.

He just had to catch up with her.

As they approached the station entrance, Jacob moved faster, quickly closing the distance between himself and the girl. She was much shorter than he had expected, but that would only make kidnapping her easier.

“Don’t call for help,” he said in a low voice as he grabbed her arm, twisting it up behind her back. She gasped sharply, turning her head as he pressed up against her back. “Keep walking. Eyes in front.”

“You’re making a mistake,” she said, her voice soft but surprisingly calm as he continued to steer her through the station, keeping pace as the crowds parted around them. “Please, let me go.”

Jacob chuckled, a dark sound that usually inspired fear in his captives. He kept his grip on her wrist, smirking slightly. “We’re fast friends now, aren’t we?”

“If those men over there see you—”

“ _You_ didn’t see me,” Jacob told her, “I doubt your friends will, either.”

“Please,” her voice trembled ever so slightly as she spoke this time, “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I know _exactly_ what I’m dealing with, _Lyanna_ ,”

He felt her tense at the sound of her name. The train was at the far end of one of the platforms, only one carriage accessible from platform level – but it was more than enough. He just had to get across the other platforms and then to the end of that one. Several Blighters stood in small knots throughout the station, though none of them seemed to have noticed him – and he could see that his Rooks also congregated through the station as well.

“Let me go, I’ll come willingly with you,” she said softly.

“It would be wise to keep quiet,” Jacob hissed, “I rather not hurt you – but don’t think I won’t.”

“Please,” she whispered as they passed a small group of men. She twisted her wrist in his grip, trying to find a way to break free, but Jacob simply tightened his hold, making her wince.

“I recommend you stop struggling,” he told her, keeping his voice low as he kept his eyes ahead, as if distanced from the girl in front of him. She barely reached his shoulder, and he could have sworn some of Clara’s spies had more meat on their bones than this girl – but he could still feel the taut muscles beneath his grip.

Her step faltered suddenly, and Jacob ran into her, almost knocking her over.

“Miss Starrick,” a voice purred in front of them – one of the Blighters had stepped in front of them, and was smirking at the girl.

_Starrick?!_

“Your uncle awaits,” the Blighter told the girl, gesturing with a bow. Lyanna Starrick glanced back at Jacob, looking fearful, as Jacob sensed several more Blighters circle around, cutting off his retreat.

“I was supposed to be meeting a friend,” Lyanna told the Blighter, “I intended to see my uncle immediately after.”

“There was no mention of this with your last letter,” the Blighter stated, “You should have sent word. When your carriage was found in the care of some Rooks, he became _most_ concerned. Heard he took a few of their fingers each before he finally dealt with them.”

Jacob wanted to move, to attack this man in front of them for even _suggesting_ that his men had been captured – but Lyanna reached back suddenly, pressing a hand to his chest.

“I requested that they act as a distraction,” Lyanna stated, “But I’ll speak directly to my uncle about the matter.”

“We can deal with this one for you,” another Blighter, closing in on Jacob’s right, seemed to growl. Jacob glanced around, sensing that there were at least eight of them around, and any fight might alert the other two groups nearby. To his surprise, Lyanna shook her head.

“No need. There’s been enough trouble for one night. Sir, we should end our charade,” she looked over her shoulder at Jacob, “Lest my uncle’s friends perceive you as an actual threat.”

Jacob grit his teeth, but released the girl’s arm anyway. Why was she covering for him?

“Tell your leader that we can speak at a later date,” Lyanna said, turning to him and curtseying. “The conversation was thrilling. Now,” she turned to the Blighters, “Please, escort me to my uncle’s.”

He was ready for a fight, a surprise attack, _anything_ , but none of the Blighters gave him more than a sneer as they moved off with the girl. He turned, watching as she was escorted away, and to his surprise, she glanced back at him.

Was it his imagination, or did she seem more frightened in the Blighters’ company?


	4. Blurred Lines

“You look so distracted, my dear Jacob, whatever is the matter?”

Pearl poured him another glass of champagne as he sat in her carriage, the cobblestones of the street rattling every bone as they crossed one of the bridges spanning the Thames. “Don’t tell me your sister has been causing problems.”

“Not my sister,” Jacob sighed, allowing the champagne to take his head. He settled back in his seat, one arm around Pearl’s shoulders as she rested against him. “I’m sure you’re aware by now that I’m no friend to Crawford Starrick,”

“Not many are,” she replied, her words only slightly slurred from the drink. This was not her first bottle this evening, but since the success of the engine heists, she had been finding more excuses to celebrate their victories over Millner than not. Jacob could hardly complain – in her more inebriated states, she had fallen all over him quite a few times, and their partnership had crossed a line more than once.

“I attempted to kidnap his niece,” he admitted. Pearl sat up, staring at him in obvious shock.

“Lyanna Starrick? Whatever possessed you to do such a thing? It’s a miracle you survived!”

“She spoke in my defense,” Jacob explained, “It was almost like… she was a prisoner, either way, and she surrendered herself to protect me. But she looked genuinely afraid,” he admitted, “It was like she was trying to find a way to escape Starrick.”

“The poor thing has little true liking for her uncle, I think,” Pearl sighed, leaning against Jacob once again, finishing off her glass, “No stomach for bloodshed, either, the darling. As close to an innocent as you’ll find in this city, Mr. Frye; it’s no surprise that she wanted you protected, despite you having put her in danger anyway. But, I suppose she is safe with her uncle now,” Pearl tilted her glass towards her face, inspecting it for the last few drops of champagne. “I wouldn’t dwell on her plight, or the failure; you have _many_ other talents, which suffice to say would be a waste on such a placid creature.”

As she said this, she slid into Jacob’s lap, reaching up and tugging on his collar, pulling him down to meet her. She tasted like the champagne they’d already shared, and as her fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt, he allowed himself to be distracted by his “business partner”.

“I’ve thought of the _perfect_ way to end Millner’s presence in this city,” Pearl told him, her nails tracing the contours of his chest as they resurfaced. Jacob smirked as he curled an arm beneath her shoulders, pulling her up so that it wasn’t so uncomfortable for him to kiss her.

“Hmm?” He asked, pressing his lips to her throat. “What might that be?”

“Just _kill_ him!”

The outright demand took him by surprise, and Jacob sat up a little, studying Pearl’s face.

“How _much_ have you had to drink, my dear?”

“The thought of success is more intoxicating than any alcohol,” she purred, caressing his cheek gently, “ _Kill_ him for me, Mr. Frye. Then we can see Attaway Transport take its true place at the height of London transport – all thanks to _you_ ,”

She kissed him again, her breath almost intoxicating in its potency. He responded languidly, cradling her as she caressed him, her hands soft against his skin as she slid them down his chest, to his waist, slipping beneath the waistband of his trousers—

“Tonight?” He asked, breaking away from her. She laughed huskily, hands returning to caress his chin.

“Yes,” she breathed, “And then, you should come visit me again. We could discuss… _future_ business plans.”

“Future” business plans. He liked the sound of that. He kissed her again, short and sweet.

“It will be done, Miss Attaway.”


	5. The Trouble With Templars

Getting to Millner was easy – all he had to do was destroy the man’s ferry, then assassinate him. As his lackeys raced about, raising the alarm, Jacob took the moment to pause, Millner in his arms as the world around them seemed to slow to a stop.

“I knew this day would come,” Millner choked out, gasping for breath. “Mr. Starrick was furious I lost the engines – so this is my comeuppance.”

The very idea was like nails on a chalkboard to his ears. “Pearl Attaway led me to you, not Starrick,” Jacob told the dying man. He stared blankly at Jacob for a few quiet moments.

“Then they’re working together again,” he said finally. His face was frozen, but the regret was evident in his voice. “I should never have come between Mr. Starrick and Miss Attaway. Family always stay together… in the end…”

He grimaced, as his words cut through Jacob’s mind. He gripped the man’s shoulder tighter, leaning in.

“What do you mean, they’re family?” He demanded. His own heart felt like it was racing, his words were like an angered hiss. Millner, however, continued to stare blankly at the night sky above, his body going limp.

Jacob rocked back on his heels, letting go of the corpse and looking away. _Family always stay together in the end…_ But she despised Starrick, didn’t she?

_I will speak to your Aunt Pearl about arranging a private and secure carriage…_

The words from Starrick’s letter to his niece returned to Jacob, as he slowly stood up. Around him, the world was returning to normal speed again, and he was going to have to face Millner’s hired thugs – he’d have time to think about this later.

Getting out was almost as easy as getting in, but once he was on the bank of the Thames, Jacob’s mind cleared.

“Time for Pearl and I to have a _real_ conversation,” he said to himself. How long had she been using him, misleading him? Were those few trysts in her carriage for pleasure, business, or some perverse attempt to gain his unwavering devotion?

He wondered if she would be waiting for him at her home, as she had said – but his inner sense told him that no, she was somewhere close by. Following that sixth sense, he found himself outside an old, derelict building. The door was locked, but he figured it was safer to use the broken window on the third floor instead.

She wasn’t alone; as he slipped in, he could hear another voice.

“I was certain he knew I belonged to the Order and was there to end me,” Pearl’s voice was coming from a room somewhere on the second floor. Jacob quickly crept down a flight of stairs, recognising her gown – the same one he had fancied unlacing with her later that night.

 _That certainly won’t be happening now,_ he thought, slipping into the shadows to spy through the gaping hole in the wall.

“Imagine my delight when he told me his true purpose. An Assassin, helping the Templar cause! Isn’t _that_ delicious?”

“It’s sickening.”

That voice… Jacob had never encountered the man in person, but he didn’t need to guess that the man Pearl was talking to was none other than Crawford Starrick.

“It’s business, cousin. Look at the big picture,” Pearl sounded _far_ more sober than she had in the carriage, and Jacob wondered just how many times she had faked inebriation to excuse her deviations from “business” – unless she considered _those_ part of the deal. “With Millner gone, I own the only omnibus company left in London.”

Jacob edged closer to the gap in the wall, getting a clearer view of Pearl and her “cousin”. Starrick was a tall man in decorative dress uniform, with close-cropped hair and an impressive set of chops. As if to give him a comical appearance, an impressive moustache decorated his upper lip, rounding out the entire ensemble and matching every possible mental image Jacob could conjure for a villain.

“You glower too much, cousin,” Pearl told him, “You will get your engines back – our motorised buses will bring us both a _lot_ of money.”

The way she spoke of it, so breathily, was almost identical to the way she had described the intoxication of success. Jacob realised that here, in this abandoned building, Pearl Attaway’s true colours were on display – scandals and wealth were her driving desires.

“I’ll need to arrange proper transport for the engines to get back to my factory.” Starrick didn’t sound all too pleased, but he moved on to the matter of business quickly. “I want you at Waterloo, personally, to ensure that _nothing_ goes wrong.”

“Of course. And what of my plans for Frye?”

“If you can rid this city of his stain, then do it. I do not want to know the details, only that he is dealt with.”

“I assure you, cousin, I seen to it that man is blinded by his lust.” Pearl’s tone was suggestive, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out her meaning. Jacob felt a moment of sickening realisation, but he couldn’t allow that to blind him now.

“May the Father of Understanding guide us,”

“Today and in all of our future endeavours, cousin,” Starrick replied, gesturing for them to leave. Jacob slipped back into his shadows as Pearl’s head turned in his direction, her footsteps echoing down the stairs beyond with Starrick’s following.

“Waterloo Station,” Jacob repeated softly.

It looked like he had his next target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know how this mission goes (unless you haven't played _Syndicate_ , in which case it's kinda your own fault hah. Anyways, if you're into angsty stuff then I have another Assassin's Creed story I'm chasing some feedback on - you can find it on my profile, "On Eden's Watch". It's a lot more lengthy than this, but please give it a read and let me know your thoughts.  
> Yes, I'm cross-promoting. No, I don't care.  
> More for this one tomorrow! Until then, thank you ^-^


	6. Mistakes and Corrections

He didn’t trust himself anymore.

Jacob paused, crouched in the steel girders of the station as he watched the head of security pacing the length of Pearl’s reinforced carriage. He wasn’t going to give that snake a chance to speak before he put his blade through her throat, not because he was afraid of her – he was afraid that she might find a way to bewitch him once again.

He had wanted a closeness with someone, and had stupidly allowed himself to be smitten by her passion, like a moth to a flame. He didn’t dare allow himself to make that mistake a second time – not for her, not for anybody.

The security chief never knew what hit him. Jacob retracted his blade as he quickly frisked the man, recovering a few bullets and a rolled-up set of blueprints with a note attached from the man’s pockets. Crouching low beside the carriage, he scanned the note and then unfurled the blueprints.

Glass. The wagon’s ceiling was normal glass. No reinforcements, no additional bars, just plain glass with some leadlined framing to hold the lot together. Well, that made dropping in for an unexpected visit a _lot_ easier.

Avoiding the line of sight of the nearby guards, Jacob scaled the side of the next carriage, before leaping onto the top of the final car. Through the glass top, he could see Pearl standing over a desk, her attention focused on what looked like the blueprints for her motorised buses. Jacob sighed, before taking two more steps and jumping.

The glass ceiling shattered as he fell through, landing on top of her. His hand went straight to her throat, and he triggered his blade, not even giving her a chance to speak. Her face twisted in pain as the blade went through her, before she could even cry out, and Jacob felt a gut-twisting sensation of satisfaction, seeing her in such pain as she struggled for breath while he stood over her.

The world slowed, shards of glass still falling around them before hanging, suspended in mid-air.

“What a shame. Good partnerships are hard to come by.”

Her physical form was incapable of speaking, so she appeared to him as a vision, approaching slowly, hands clasped in front of her like always. Jacob didn’t give the spectre a glance, instead directing his attention to her choking, dying form.

“Ours is most certainly dissolved,” he told her, slowly lowering to one knee, his face close to hers as his hand curled around her waist. He could hear the venom in his own voice, the anger he kept held back.

“It’s business, Mr. Frye. One does what one must to come out on top.”

He allowed himself to glance at her spectre; she looked genuinely apologetic, but she had played him so well that he thought certain she was trying, one last time, to fool him.

“Crawford will not take the news of my death lightly. He can be… _unpleasant_ when he’s cross.”

Her voice hardened as she spoke, becoming a warning. Jacob didn’t care for it, though; if these were her final thoughts, final words, then let them be it.

“I have sacrificed so much! I don’t want to lose my buses…”

Her body finally gave up fighting, falling limp in his arms. Jacob gazed at her face for a few more moments, before pulling out the handkerchief and catching some of her blood on one corner.

Time seemed to resume; the last pieces of glass fell around him, and Jacob looked up to see something completely unexpected.

“You look much tidier in normal clothing, Miss Starrick,” he remarked icily.

Lyanna Starrick stood staring at him, face stricken with terror as he advanced on her. Her fear was evident, and in this moment where his own emotions were getting the better of him, he _enjoyed_ seeing her so afraid.

“Don’t kill me,” she gasped as he grabbed her by the throat, “Please, don’t kill me!”

Tears had appeared in the corners of her eyes, and she met his cold glare, lips trembling, shaking beneath his grasp. He wanted to kill her, to take away two of Starrick’s relatives in one fell swoop and deal a crushing blow to the man. But something stayed his hand.

“Walk in front of me,” he told her, wrenching the door open and shoving her towards the next carriage. “I don’t require a reason to end your life.”

She stumbled, grasping at the handle for the next carriage and quickly pulling it open, moving forwards slowly. Jacob grabbed her arm, still pushing her forwards but keeping a hold on her so she wouldn’t try to slip away. He could feel her shaking, could see her shoulders heaving with silent sobs as she stumbled forwards, blinded by tears but hurrying all the same.

_“No stomach for bloodshed, either, the darling. As close to an innocent as you’ll find in this city, Mr. Frye”_

Attaway’s words came back to mind as he pushed her onto one of the cargo carts, where she stumbled and fell. He wrenched her up, no care for the soft whimper of pain as she tried to regain her footing.

“There! Shoot him!”

Jacob whirled, pulling the “innocent darling” between him and the guards that had spotted him. The girl gasped, pressing back against him, but the guards lowered their guns.

“I do believe I’ve a train to catch,” Jacob snapped at them, “And my young friend here is coming along for the ride. Tell your men to stand down, or she’ll be meeting my blade.”

As he spoke, he triggered his hidden blade, holding it in front of the girl’s throat. He felt one of her hands curl around his arm, but she didn’t try to pull away or fight.

“Stand down, you fools!” The leader of the group called out, looking along the platform, “Stand down!”

Lyanna Starrick said nothing as Jacob dragged her through the remaining cargo carriages, before shoving her over the coal cart and then down into the driver platform.

“Stay there,” he said, shoving her towards a corner, pulling on one of the levers. The train started up, moving slowly as it began to pull away from the station. Jacob looked back at the security guards as he pulled away; they were watching him helplessly, knowing full well that if they made to follow, he would likely kill Lyanna Starrick where she stood.

It seemed his two most recent failures had been corrected in the course of one night.


	7. Rage and Grief

“Jacob?”

Lyanna Starrick stumbled again, tripping and falling to the floor of the carriage as Henry and Evie both turned to him. It was evident that he wasn’t in a good mood, that something had happened, because he was almost _never_ so rough with people – not unless he was fighting them, or intended to kill them.

Evie moved to the girl’s side, kneeling beside her as she tried to stand, but Jacob grabbed the girl’s arm and dragged her to her feet.

“Henry, Evie, meet Lyanna Starrick,” he told the other two Assassins, “Lyanna, meet the other two people who are most likely to want you dead.”

Evie could see the girl was shaken as she stared at the pair, but she made no move to pull away from Jacob’s grip.

“Jacob, what have you done?” Evie demanded.

“What I done?” Jacob laughed, a bitter sound with no humour, “Killed Starrick cousin and kidnapped his niece. What about you, Evie Frye? What are you doing in your attempt to free London?”

“Jacob, for Christ’s sake,” Henry moved towards the girl, but Jacob wrenched her away, ignoring her pained gasp. He shoved her roughly, forcing her to sit on the lounge, holding up a hand to stop Henry in his tracks.

“And you, _Greenie_ ,” he hissed, “What have you been up to this entire time? Helping my sister, I’m _sure_.”

“Jacob, why are you acting like this?” Evie asked. She had only ever seen Jacob this way once before – when he had gotten drunk after their father’s funeral. He was hurting, and the only way Jacob Frye knew how to deal with his internal pain was by hurting others.

“Miss Attaway’s death,” Henry said slowly, “That was no mere chance, was it?”

“What would you know, _Greenie_?” Jacob hissed, squaring up to Henry. “You sit in your little train car, reading your books and doing _nothing_. I’ve done _more_ for this city in the past four months than you’ve managed in four years!”

He stepped away, proudly proclaiming the achievement as he spread his arms wide.

“Starrick no longer controls the city’s transport,” he added, “ _Dear_ Miss Attaway, his beloved cousin, has been removed from her position. Gave her a _lovely_ red scarf as a parting gift, too,” he added, laughing bitterly.

“He found a case of whiskey on the train we stole,” Lyanna spoke up suddenly, looking at Evie, “I think he had at least one bottle.”

“ _You_ ,” Jacob lunged for the girl, but Evie moved faster, jerking her knee up into Jacob’s stomach. To Henry, it looked almost like a dance, but it was one that ended with both siblings holding a blade to each other’s throat.

“You’re drunk, Jacob,” Evie stated, “I can smell it.”

“Am I not allowed a few drinks to celebrate a success?” Jacob laughed – again, there was no humour to it. Henry looked over at the girl, who was watching the pair with an almost unnatural intensity.

“I liberated those combustion engines from Starrick,” Jacob continued, “Assassinated his Templar _bitch_ cousin, and oh – we now have a safeguard in case he decides to try a direct attack,” he gestured to the girl seated on the lounge. “Did you know, Evie, that Miss Attaway was Starrick’s cousin? A Templar? How disgusting,”

Henry was tempted to point out that Jacob hadn’t thought it “disgusting” when he had bedded the woman – but he felt such an observation might be unwise to voice in the present moment.

Evie, however, wasn’t Henry.

“You didn’t seem to think it was disgusting last week,” she shot back at him. There was a brief struggle, and Henry saw the twins both press their blades harder into each other’s skin.

“Henry,” Evie didn’t take her eyes off her brother, but her voice was careful, measured. “Please leave the car. Close the door behind you.”

“Yes, _Greenie_ , run for cover,” Jacob hissed, his own eyes still fixed on Evie. Henry didn’t want to leave, but he sensed that he shouldn’t stay for the next moment. He just prayed that his departure wouldn’t give the pair leave to kill each other.

The moment the door was closed, Jacob folded. Evie pulled back, dropping her blade and catching her brother as his legs seemed to give way. Silent sobs wracked his figure as he gasped for breath, and she hushed him gently, cradling him as the whiskey got the better if him.

“She was using me,” Jacob said, his voice thick with tears, pain evident in his voice, “She was using me, Evie. And I was too thick to notice it.”

Evie said nothing, caressing her brother as he let his emotions out on display, for her eyes only.

“Hush, Jacob,” she said softly, tucking his head against her shoulder, almost like a child. “It happens even to the best of us.”

“I killed an innocent man,” Jacob admitted, “I broke the tenet. Millner…”

“Millner was just as embroiled in the Templar plot as Attaway,” Evie reassured him, “You didn’t kill an innocent man, Jacob; you took out someone who would have kept his position even after Attaway was dealt with.”

“She had plans for me,” he whispered, “I can only guess… She said I was too “blinded by lust”, she’d use it against me.”

Evie felt a chill through her core. True, she was aware that Jacob’s “partnership” with Attaway had crossed lines, but the thought of her using Jacob’s interest to lure him into a trap, potentially to his death…

“She didn’t get the chance,” she reassured him, though the words were for herself as well. “You’re still here. And you know better now, because of it.”

Evie looked up and almost froze as she realised – though Henry had left, the other person in the car hadn’t.

Lyanna Starrick sat on the lounge, watching the man who had kidnapped her crumbling under emotional duress. She didn’t look much older than twenty, with fair skin, sun-bleached reddish hair, and bright green eyes that were fixed on the pair. Even as Evie stared, Lyanna made eye contact with her and, silently, lifted a single finger to her lips.

_I won't tell._

Evie wasn’t sure how she knew, but it was almost like her sixth sense was telling her. Lyanna Starrick, despite all her name implied, could be trusted to secrecy.


	8. Nursing A Hangover

When Jacob rolled over in his bed the next morning, the mother of all hangovers beating a sack of bricks against his temple, the last thing he expected to see was a young woman in a plain blue dress, watching him from a seat on the other side of the carriage.

Jacob yelped, then winced from the pain, screwing his eyes shut. Oh god, why did he have to finish off the full bottle?

To his surprise, a cool hand wrapped around his wrist, lifting his hand up and pressing something into it. Jacob opened his eyes, looking over to see the girl pressing a tankard into his palm gently.

"Hangover is just exacerbated dehydration," she said in a very soft, quiet voice. "Lots of water will help you feel better."

He stared at her, squinting for a few moments as she made sure his grip on the tankard was firm, before quickly retreating back to her seat. She glanced up, meeting his gaze for the briefest moment before looking at the floor again.

Jacob frowned, inspecting the oversized mug, but there was no sign of any powders sticking to the edges or sparkling within, or any sign of residue on top. As he took a sip, keeping his eyes on the girl, he tested the taste.

It was just plain water.

Unable to help himself, he gulped down the rest of the mug, before setting it on the nightstand.

"Why are you here?" He asked, wincing at the throbbing sensation his own voice caused. Lyanna Starrick kept her eyes on the floor.

"You were rather descriptive in explaining my punishment if I attempted to leave your side."

She spoke softly, almost solemnly, her hands folded in her lap as she avoided his gaze. Jacob frowned, spinning to sit on the edge of his bed as he studied this girl, this obviously submissive young thing before him.

"What exactly did I say?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. He recalled the escape, meeting some Rooks at Charing Cross, finding the case of whiskey... After that, things became a little more blurred.

"Very graphic descriptions of your previous victims, and slow and torturous ways to..." Her voice faltered, "Die."

"Of course," Jacob muttered, looking away as the train rounded a bend. Light suddenly streamed in through the window, making the throbbing in his head triple. He closed his eyes, shielding them from the sudden onslaught. "Where's the water jug?"

She was up in an instant, pouring more water into the tankard before setting the jug on the nightstand and backing away. Jacob tried to think through the throbbing pain as he downed half the tankard in one go, and to his surprise the light darkened suddenly.

Jacob opened his eyes to see Starrick, once again, returning to her seat, having presumably just pulled the curtains over the window. As she avoided eye contact with him, Attaway's description of the girl came to mind once again.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked. She kept her eyes down, hesitating slightly before nodding. Her hands twisted in her lap, betraying her nervousness, but the exhilaration of sensing her fear seemed to give Jacob renewed energy.

Whoever had dragged him to his bed - likely Evie, he doubted this girl before him could manage it - had also stripped his shirt and coat. Instead of being discarded on the floor, however, they had both been neatly folded and laid on the chest at the foot of his bed. Jacob reached for them both as he stood up, suddenly feeling far more unsteady than he had anticipated.

At the worst possible moment, the train lurched sharply and Jacob stumbled, losing all sense of balance. His knee gave way and he fell sideways, tumbling into the girl. The pounding in his head resumed as the whistle sounded, and he groaned weakly.

To his surprise, he felt himself being lifted, half-carried back to his bed. He could hear the girl straining from the exertion, but he was surprised she could even lift him - right now he was as good as dead weight.

"Perhaps you should stay abed a little longer," she said, her voice still soft as she pressed a cool hand to his forehead. Jacob caught her wrist, keeping her hand in place as he relished the sensation against his skin. Why was she so cold? That was a question he supposed he would ask later. For now, he was content to just lay on his bed and let this girl tend to him.

"I dressed your injury from last night, too," she said, her soft voice lilting slightly, "I hope you don't mind."

"My injury?" He asked, lips barely parting as he murmured.

“You must have been caught in the side. It wasn't much more than a scratch, but I still thought to clean and cover it."

"Indeed," Jacob smirked as he dared to open his eyes, looking at his new nurse. "And I suppose you were the one who carried me to bed?"

"With your sister's help."

"Of course."

He wondered if her hands were the only cold part of her, and whether he could hold her against him, like some sort of reverse blanket. He was well aware such a thought, especially for such a young girl, was improper, but he had no intention of acting upon it.

"Mr. Frye?"

That voice was so soft, and he appreciated it right now, given the throbbing in his head. He hummed softly in response.

"Could I maybe sit down?"

Jacob opened his eyes to realise he must have dozed off somewhat. His hand was still loosely wrapped around her wrist, but her hand was no longer as cool to touch as it had been.

"Sorry," he murmured, letting her go. "Didn't realise I fell asleep."

"It's fine,"

She pulled the chair closer to his bedside, refilling the tankard. He wasn't usually one to enjoy being fussed over, but this... This was a surprisingly pleasant change to the usual hangover wakeup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst... reviews/comments are a cool thing you should do *wink*


	9. Innocence Re-Branded

He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he could recall was hearing the car door open.

"You don't have to hover over him," Evie's voice said. Jacob heard a soft hush, and sensed the girl glance at him.

"I dare not risk his ire," she replied, voice still soft and gentle. Evie scoffed.

"If he lays a finger on you, he answers to me. You've nothing to fear, Lyanna. Have you eaten yet?"

She answered silently, and Evie sighed.

"I'll bring something down for you. You really don't have to worry about him. You saw how he was last night - he's not exactly a monster."

What did she mean by that? Jacob kept his eyes closed, maintaining the illusion of sleep for a few more moments.

"The men who hide their tears are the most dangerous of all, Miss Frye," Lyanna replied, "I'll stay here until he says I can go elsewhere."

Evie sighed, before moving away. Jacob heard the door close behind her, and felt cool fingers press lightly against his cheek.

"I know you're awake, Mr. Frye," she said softly. Jacob opened his eyes, looking through his lashes at this girl, this soft, innocent creature.

"What happened last night?" He asked her. "That you and Evie spoke about."

"You began crying," she replied, "She nursed you, but you..." She hesitated, casting her gaze down. "It was like you shattered. You were very drunk, Mr. Frye, and alcohol can make us rather emotional."

Great. He showed weakness in front of the enemy. Jacob sighed, sitting up. The throbbing had eased, and light didn't seem to hurt his eyes so much, but he still felt weary and his throat was incredibly dry. He took a few more gulps of water, setting the empty tankard aside.

"You were close with Miss Attaway," she stated, "But she wasn't close with you."

"No, she was not," he replied, determinedly not meeting Lyanna's gaze, "And I'd rather we don't discuss it, if you don't mind."

She nodded, refilling the tankard again as she kept her expression cast down.

"She was always a two-faced bitch anyway,"

Jacob nearly choked on his own tongue at the comment, staring at Lyanna. If he hadn't seen her lips move, he wouldn't have thought it possible that she had spoken.

"I beg your pardon?" He demanded, staring at the girl. She looked up and met his gaze, and for the briefest moment there was a twinkle of mischief behind those green eyes, the smallest smirk tugging the corner of her lips. But as soon as he had noticed it, it was gone, and the girl before him was back to the passive, shy child she had been before.

Evie barged in at that moment, carrying two plates of food. She stopped, giving Jacob a once-over.

"Good to see you've finally resurfaced," she commented, crossing to the bed and holding the two plates out for the pair of them. "Henry's received word that the Templar numbers are to be doubled."

"More targets to take down," Jacob replied, tucking into the hot lunch. "Any word on when they'll be arriving?"

"No idea."

"They'll likely pull them from the countryside," Lyanna spoke up, though her voice was still soft. "At least fifty more within the week. A hundred within the fortnight - double that within the month."

"Well, we'll just have to recruit more Rooks," Jacob smirked. Evie rolled her eyes.

"What we _need_ to do is find the Shroud," she insisted, "That's why they're here."

"In case you've forgotten, Evie Frye," Jacob stood up, his head pounding from the motion, "One of us has been doing rather well in taking out Starrick's deputies and loosening his hold on the city. What have you been doing, Miss Frye?"

"Well, kidnapping children certainly hasn't been one of my activities," Evie snapped back.

"No, you've just been letting Templars slip through your fingers, time and time again!"

"Enough, both of you!"

Jacob and Evie were in each others' faces, but they froze at the sudden shout. In unison, they turned to look at Lyanna, who was on her feet, glaring at them. Gone was the quiet, submissive young girl that had so carefully tended to Jacob while he was hungover.

"First of all, I'm _not_ a child," Lyanna snapped, eyes flashing dangerously as she glared between the two. "I know I'm short, and thin, but I'm older than _you_. Secondly, _both_ of you are contributing to bringing down the Templars in your own ways, and you're doing far better working individually than if you were working together! So stop sniping and bickering at each other!"

Jacob stared at this girl, this young woman. Her fists were balled and every muscle on her forearms stood out, and to his surprise Jacob also saw the scars - too many to count, barely visible against her pale skin usually, but standing out now as her skin was drawn taut with the tension of hidden strength.

Evie seemed just as shocked at the outburst, staring at Lyanna as if also seeing her in a new light.

"The more time you spend at each others' throats," Lyanna continued, speaking more calmly but with no less authority than before, "The more time the Templars have to reclaim control of the city."

"And why do you support _us_?" Evie asked, slowly stalking towards the girl. Lyanna neither flinched nor backed down as Evie closed in, instead meeting her gaze.

"Just because I appear to bear the same name as one, does not make me a Templar."

"You provide information for them," Jacob pointed out, "We saw your letter. Your little excursion to Masyaf? The "wisdom" you promised to share once you had an audience with your dear uncle?"

"The speed of sound, the Fermi Paradox, and the recipe for penicillin," she snapped, "Hardly things capable of changing the world at _this_ point in time."

"And how would you know?" Evie demanded. Lyanna met her gaze unflinchingly.

"That Vault showed me a lot more than just some scientific formulas," she stated acidly, "I was more selective about what I passed on to the Templars."

"So you're trying to tell us that you work _against_ the Templars?" Jacob scoffed, "Against your own family?"

"You mean, against the people who took me in after _murdering_ my family?" Lyanna shot back, raising her left hand. "I was never a Starrick, and the girl you kidnapped is a character I play to stay above suspicion."

There, on her ring finger, Jacob and Evie could clearly see the Assassin insignia branded onto her skin - the mark carried by those born into the Creed.

"My name is Lyanna Auditore."


	10. Survival of the Fittest

Assassin families were hardly a modern concept – dating all the way back to the days of Altaïr, and perhaps even before that, the Brotherhood often found new initiates among the sons – and later, daughters – of existing Assassins. Of course, some family lineages were newer, but others could trace their roots back to the Renaissance, and even beyond.

The Auditore of Italy were one such family. Or rather, they had been.

The attack on the Auditore had begun sometime before Jacob was born, and while many of the lineage had scattered themselves across Europe, they had been hunted down, one by one, the search lasting years, and Jacob could still recall the day his father had learned of the final assault. Ethan, a man who was known to keep his emotions masked, had exploded with rage and grief only after the messenger had departed.

Jacob had later been told of the details, when he was old enough to understand the evil of the act. The Templars had gone from room to room, killing every man, woman, and child in the safehouse, whether they bore the surname Auditore or not. It was a massacre, with even the infants supposedly executed.

“They kept the information from me,” Lyanna explained, watching Evie pace slowly, “But once my Sight began to come in, I was able to figure out that something about me was different.”

"This is remarkable," Henry said softly. She had presented them with a journal full of maps that were marked with hidden Templar strongholds - some of which they didn't even know about. "You must have been travelling a very long time, to gather this much information."

"Some of it was copied from Templar maps," Lyanna replied, "But I did start travelling young – Italy, Spain, Greece. I was travelling alone by the time I was eighteen.” She added, glancing over at the journal, “Mostly by sea, though; this most recent one was my first overland journey.”

"From Masyaf," Jacob noted, recalling the letter they had intercepted. "Where you - somehow - entered the Assassins vault."

"The descendents of Master Yusuf Tazim protected one of the keys," Lyanna explained, "They have long had a connection with the Auditore; upon my initiation into the Brotherhood, they gifted it to me. I returned it when I passed back through Constantinople," she added, her tone suddenly firm, "So don't even bother asking to see it."

"What did you find in there?" Evie asked, still slowly stalking back and forth. She was a restless thinker, but her constant movement often unnerved others who found themselves in Lyanna’s position.

The other woman shrugged. “No books, no maps, only an artifact – an Apple of Eden. It showed me a lot of things – some that made sense, some that didn’t, but I kept all of it in a safe, secure place.” She smirked, tapping her temple. Jacob imitated the smirk.

“So when you returned, you were trying to escape Starrick?” He asked, “That was why you used a decoy – you wanted to slip away.”

“To an extent,” Lyanna fixed her green glare on him. “It was going well until _you_ showed up.”

“If you had been honest from the beginning, I would merely have told you where we could better meet,”

“Crawford Starrick’s beloved niece, telling you she’s secretly undercover and will gladly meet you at a location of your choosing?” Lyanna snorted, “Would you have believed that for a second?”

“He can be quite gullible,” Evie supplied. Ignoring Jacob’s cry of protest, she leaned on the table. “Does this mean you support our cause? You’ll help us free London of Templar rule?”

"London?" Lyanna laughed bitterly, before turning surprisingly solemn. "I want to cripple their order,” she replied emphatically, “I want to destroy them, right to their very roots. I don’t know if I was the only one spared, nor do I know why they chose me, but I intend to make sure that _any_ who hunted my family pay for their actions with their own blood.”

As she spoke, her voice shifted, filling with venom that Jacob hadn’t seen other Assassins display. Something about this girl was dangerously different, and he wasn’t sure if it was the Auditore blood, the lifetime raised under Templar control, or the betrayal of knowing that those who professed to love her had been the cause of all her losses.

“Why go back to them, then?” Evie asked, “Why not just tear yourself away? Fake your death, tell them that you know the truth – there’d be many ways to escape them, I’ll wager.”

“I may be tired of playing a docile, naïve sweetheart, but that act gives me access to information that no other role could ever gain,” Lyanna smirked, eyes flashing. “Nobody seems to have realised that sweet little Lyanna Starrick sees and hears almost everything that goes on in their strongholds. It’s the perfect way to collect the information needed to destroy them from the inside out.” She looked over at Jacob, “The kidnapping plan – I like it. Removing Attaway will have thrust a knife into Starrick’s gut; dangling his adored niece as a hostage will twist that blade, especially if we go about this the right way.”

"I do not think provoking Starrick in such a way is wise," Henry remarked, looking between Jacob and Lyanna.

“How unfortunate, but I don’t care what you think,” Lyanna turned and met Henry’s gaze as she spoke, “You haven’t had to live with him. The man has a god complex, and the sooner he is crippled, the easier it will be to kill him. The sooner _that_ happens, the better for all of us.”

“Racing in and throwing yourself about as bait, though?” Henry shook his head, “This plan can only end badly, I think.”

“It will end in a horrific and bloody conflict,” Lyanna replied, looking to Jacob. “I have some ideas on how we can cause Starrick more pain.”

“I think I like her,” Jacob told Evie, as if sharing a secret with his twin. Evie rolled her eyes.

“I know you have your own plans in mind, Lyanna,” she began, “But Starrick and his people are searching for the Shroud. If we could find that before them—”

“And do what?” Lyanna asked, “Hold onto it? Destroy it? Toss it into the depths of the ocean, so that it might never be found again?”

“The Templars gain power from holding the Pieces of Eden,”

“The Templars _have_ power,” Jacob spoke up, gesturing around himself, “They control the main city, the cornerstone of the British Empire. While ever they control that, they’ll be able to do whatever they want.”

“I know the Shroud is important to you, and finding it seems to be your mission,” Lyanna told Evie, “I won’t tell you _not_ to go after it, because it might be able to give us the edge so desperately needed. But I have absolute faith that you can do this without my help.”

Jacob watched as Evie seemed to wrestle with herself, torn between the obvious compliment and the failure of attracting another assistant. _Oh well; she has Greenie helping her,_ he thought to himself. He turned to Lyanna, now seeing her in a different light. Things could get interesting very quickly.

“You said you had some ideas to cause Starrick more pain,” he remarked, unable to keep the smirk from his face. “Let’s discuss.”


	11. Written In Blood

"This is a terrible idea,"

Jacob was no stranger to blood, but the warmth of the small glass vial he now rolled between his hands was... Well, he simply wasn't used to seeing someone _willingly_ offer the stuff up.

"It needs to still be warm when it reaches Starrick," Lyanna told him, "Or else he'll think _someone_ perversely desecrated my corpse."

"You didn't even flinch when you cut yourself," Jacob remarked, looking over as the woman wrote her letter.

"I've been in many fights, Mr. Frye. If the thought of pain made me uneasy, I would not have chosen this life. How does this sound?"

She slid the letter across the desk and Jacob picked it up, setting the vial aside with the dress.

_Uncle--_

_The man who came for Aunt Pearl has taken me. I'm not sure where, but he keeps me by his side and says I am a hostage. He has given me fresh clothing, food, and clean water, but has warned that my safety is dependent on the actions of the Templars. I beg of you, Uncle Crawford, please do not do anything brash. He is a chaotic creature and I fear that he might become violent should any attempt be made towards my rescue._

_I am trying to stay strong. May the Father of Understanding guide us both in this time._

"A bit lengthy, but otherwise perfect," Jacob replied, "The shakiness of the handwriting is a nice touch."

“I’ve been playing this naïve weakling far too long; it has become as easy to me as breathing.” Lyanna folded the letter, stamping the wax seal with her Templar ring. "How will you get the package to him?”

“I’ll have one of the Rooks pay an anonymous courier,” Jacob replied, taking Lyanna’s letter and wrapping it with the garment, the vial, and his own letter. Though it was an elaborate plan, he had to admit he liked the idea of Starrick turning red with fury and then pale with fear as he discovered the contents.

“Whatever you do, make sure they hurry,” Lyanna replied, checking the binding she had wrapped around her arm, “That vial needs to be warm.”

“You keep saying,” Jacob smirked as he wrapped the collection together. Lyanna had changed out of her dress and into “more appropriate attire”, and the dress was to be delivered with the letters and vial. She had revealed that Starrick had suggested the gown himself before sending her off with Attaway the previous night.

Before wrapping it, though, Lyanna had made sure to add a few tears to the garment. “Let him think I was rough-handled,” she had chuckled. She hadn’t mentioned Jacob’s treatment of her the previous night, but he was all too aware that he hadn’t exactly been gentle – nor kind.

Henry, at the very least, had forgiven him. Evie, however… Jacob wasn’t entirely sure. He knew she would come round, but the question was when.

* * *

At times, Lucy Thorne could certainly be as her namesake suggested – a thorn in one’s side. At other times, though, her devotion to the cause helped him keep his own mind on track.

At times such as this, he appreciated her fervour, her passion, the energy with which she pursued the Templar interests. And he cursed himself for being unable to set the boundary as clearly as he should have in the very beginning.

_“Together, we will cast aside the shadows.”_

Yes, together they would cast those shadows aside; but that unity would have to come to an end once the Shroud was obtained, once he placed it around his own shoulders.

He needed to tell her this, to make clear her role in this endeavour. She was, after all, a female. A remarkable woman, but a woman nonetheless. She could never be expected to _lead_ , to rule as he knew he was to be.

“Has there been any news of Lyanna?” He asked, instead diverting his own attention to a more pressing matter. He could sense Miss Thorne’s hesitation.

“Nothing yet, sir. I assure you, we _will_ find what that cretin did to her.”

Such pessimism. Miss Thorne believed, as did his advisors, that his niece was in similar condition to his cousin. After all, Frye had been given no reason to spare her; she was the epitome of innocence, and if he so willingly stripped a woman like Pearl of her life, then he had no reason to hesitate on one like Lyanna.

His brother had been dead over fifteen years, and with him the truth of where Lyanna had come from. Robert Starrick the Second had married a barren woman, so when Robert had proudly presented a teenaged Lyanna to the family after living, estranged, in Italy for some time, Crawford was the only one who had questioned the girl’s true parentage.

Nevertheless, young Lyanna had a soft-spoken wisdom and docile nature, and the way those eyes flashed with emotion she kept so perfectly in check – how could he not adore the girl as if she were his own blood? Such fragile things were often broken in this world, yet even at her father’s funeral she had shown a grace, a kind-hearted sincerity, that Crawford knew would be sorely needed to maintain the light within the world he planned to create.

And now, she was gone. Missing, presumed dead. Yet another needless victim to the blade of Jacob Frye, no doubt.

He did not want to believe such a thought, but with every passing hour that she remained missing, he was being forced to accept the idea. The two women he loved, taken in the same night.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Starrick felt his jaw tighten as he glared straight ahead. _Why_ could these insignificant idiots not understand such a simple order? He kept himself rigid as Miss Thorne answered the door, speaking quietly to the person outside, before closing the door once more.

“Crawford…”

He forced himself to relac, turning his attention to her only to see a package held in her hands. Tied to it, a simple card with a familiar insignia was visible. Was it not enough that they had stripped the light from his beloved cousin’s eyes; now they sought to salt the wound they had inflicted upon him.

The string binding the package together unravelled easily, the soft paper falling aside to reveal the torn, damaged remnants of a familiar dress. Starrick recognised the shade easily – this was the same blue dress he had requested Lyanna wear while she accompanied Pearl the night before.

_What has that monster done to you?_

Nestled within the strips of the fabric, a small vial of dark liquid rested on top of two letters. As he lifted the vial, Starrick realised, with a sickened jolt, that it was still warm.

"Is that...?"

"I fear so," Starrick replied, staring at the blood. Not enough to indicate death, but the very thought of anyone leeching blood from his niece...

He set the vial aside, picking up the first of the two letters. Recognising the Templar seal stamped into the wax, he felt a heightened sense of anxiety as he broke the seal and opened the letter.

"She claims to be alive and safe," he finally revealed to Thorne, his own relief evident as he relaxed. "A hostage, apparently.”

"Men like him do not take prisoners," Thorne remarked, "We must act to save her, before he can do harm."

"She warns against it," Starrick sighed, closing his eyes as he set the letter aside. "He has manipulated her fear. She believes he will act if threatened."

The second letter bore no seal, no marking, but it didn't need to - Starrick knew exactly who had written this one as soon as he opened it.

_Mr. Starrick_

_We've not had the pleasure of meeting in person yet, so allow me to introduce myself. I am Jacob Frye, the man who has been taking out your co-conspirators one by one. Of course, in such a line of business, I am aware that certain dangers are involved, and have decided to take out insurance against these._

_Your niece, Lyanna, is a lovely young lady, very charming and submissive, and lovely to gaze upon. Make a move against us, Starrick, and she might not remain "innocent" for much longer. I am sure that I do not need to describe all the ways in which such a delicate thing can be damaged and broken. Your compliance is most welcome – by myself and your niece._

_Warmest regards_

_Jacob Frye_

His hands shook, crushing the edges of the paper as they curled into fists. Casting the note aside, he turned away, covering his mouth. Such degeneracy had no place in his vision for the future, but he was, it seemed, forced to allow it to survive; at least for now.

"He intends to keep her close?" Thorne demanded, her own disgust evident in her voice. "Flaying him alive is not a suitable punishment. His depravity—We must act, Crawford.”

"We must not allow harm to come to Lyanna," Starrick replied. "Continue to increase the Templar presence, but ensure that they are aware - nobody moves against these Assassins unless I give the order."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeaaaaahhhhh Lyanna's a bit twisted.


	12. Good Intentions

"I'd have thought a lady of your interests would be skilled with throwing knives," Jacob remarked as he flicked the small weapon towards the target. Lyanna chuckled.

"I've always preferred the satisfaction of shooting my targets from afar," she admitted, "The hidden blade has its advantages, but it's a shame I don't often get to use one."

She copied him, her knife falling short and landing with a _thunk_ in the plain wooden backboard. Jacob looked over as she readied another, and tutted.

"Best to only use two fingers," he told her, correcting her grip, "And flick with your wrist - elbow will give you distance, at the cost of your accuracy."

"Giving lessons, now?" Evie remarked as she entered, "I hope you don't _trust_ him to show you the best techniques."

Lyanna flicked her wrist, the knife thudding into the middle of the target. Jacob turned to his twin with a smug look.

"Just because I use different tricks, dear sister, doesn't mean they're not good." He turned his nose up at sight of the stack of books she was carrying. "Doing some light reading?"

"Looking for any mention of the key," Evie replied, "Henry and I have been working around the clock. What have _you_ been doing, dear brother?"

"As it happens, I was only showing Lyanna some new skills before heading off to find this Mr. Dredge," Jacob replied, "I've no doubt he can lead us to Plutarch, who seems to be Starrick's banker."

"Watch yourselves out there," Lyanna said, looking at both of the twins, "You've bartered for immunity from Starrick - but that doesn't mean you're free from the rival gangs and the cops."

"Didn't realise you cared," Jacob told her, smirking. Lyanna rolled her eyes at him.

"If you die, I have no other choice but to go back to Starrick. And no doubt the security he puts around me will be tripled. Not much breathing room if that happens.”

"We'll be fine," Evie replied, continuing on through the carriage. "Nice jacket, by the way."

"Nigel lent it to me," Lyanna replied, "He's the only one around here with a build anywhere near mine."

"And you can hardly go out and get something else to wear," Jacob added. They'd already discussed the idea of getting her fitted with appropriate clothing, but leaving the train would be difficult for her, especially now that posters were appearing declaring her missing, and offering a reward for her safe return.

So, borrowed clothing it had to be for the present.

"I suppose I should actually go out there and get something done," Jacob sighed, moving over to the board and pulling out the knives stuck there. He left a few on a nearby sidetable. "Keep up the practice, remember what I told you. You're already a good spy - let's see if we can't upgrade you to the Assassin rank."

“So you’re just going to leave me here on my own?” Lyanna turned as he passed her, heading for the door. “It would be awfully easy for me to escape – or for someone to rescue me,”

Jacob turned back to her, scoffing. “You just said it yourself – you’re hardly in a rush to get back to Starrick.”

“But Starrick _is_ in a rush to get me back,” Lyanna strutted towards him. “If he happened to _know_ where your hideout is, he’s likely to try a raid, and if he knows you’re not close by, well,” she tilted her head, “That would, theoretically, put me out of danger, wouldn’t it?”

They were standing very close now, and Jacob looked down at her, seeing the sense in her statement. How could he resolve the issue, though?

“There’s another Assassin here, isn’t there?” Lyanna asked, straightening Jacob’s lapels, “If _I_ were taking someone hostage, I wouldn’t exactly be eager to leave them alone, unguarded.”

“You know Henry’s hardly going to hurt you,” Jacob scoffed. _Why was she standing so close and suddenly being so touchy-feely?_

“ _I_ know that, and you and Evie know,” Lyanna smirked, “But Starrick and his men don’t. I say, we don’t even give them a look-in. Where’s Henry right now?”

“Probably off reading somewhere.”

“Make sure you come back, Jacob,” she stated, resting her hand against his chest for a moment. “You’re an interesting lad, certainly a break from the monotony the other two offer.”

There was something in her tone, something slightly different, like a hidden meaning under the words. Jacob wondered for a brief moment if… no, the idea was ridiculous. And besides, he’d already let a Templar manipulate him; he wasn’t about to fall for those kinds of tricks again. Gently, he took her hand away from his chest.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he reassured her, “Go find Henry, stay close to him.”

He didn’t wait around any longer, jumping off the train and dashing across the tracks. Before he dropped over the edge of the bridge, however, he glanced back at the receding train, shaking his head. The complete turnaround from the previous night to this new girl… something was off. It had to be. It was too much good fortune to encounter another Assassin to help their cause, especially one supposedly so close to Starrick.

They’d have to be on their guard, he decided. He wondered if he should tell Evie, but decided against it – she would likely criticise him for rushing headlong into yet another harebrained scheme.

_Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently dying from flu, pls send thoughts & prayers and comments


	13. Something Odd

It wasn’t normal for Sergeant Frederick Abberline to appear so nervous, but when Jacob dropped by the man’s position near the Bank of England, Freddie quickly took his arm, hauling him away from the rest of the officers and the outraged citizens.

“What have you done, Jacob?” He demanded, looking around to make sure they weren’t being watched. Jacob spread his hands wide, not sure what the man was getting at.

“I killed Twopenny, for starters,” he stated, “Stopped the man from robbing the bank—”

“Not _that_ , I already know about that,” Freddie glanced over his shoulder, not _at all_ looking suspicious. “There’s been a couple of tip-offs come into the station, about that missing Starrick girl. You’re wanted for questioning over her disappearance.”

This… was going to be a problem. “You can make it go away, can’t you?” Jacob asked, “Tell them you interviewed me,”

“The Chief Inspector is getting involved,”

That was _not_ good news. Jacob glanced around, suddenly feeling eyes on him and Freddie. “And I suppose talking to me right now will place suspicion on you?”

“Yes, it very well might,” Freddie huffed, shaking his head, “Jacob, just tell me – is she safe, this girl?”

“Yes, she’s fine,” Jacob replied, rolling his eyes, “Having a ball. What with teaching her how to use a throwing-knife and then talking about distant lands with our other associate while he does his research, she’s having a _grand_ old time.”

“You won’t _actually_ hurt her, will you?” Freddie asked. “She’s just a child—”

“She’s hardly that,” Jacob rolled his eyes, “She only _looks_ like one – and doesn’t bother to correct most people otherwise.”

“ _Still_ ,” Freddie hissed, casting another glance around, “Whatever you do with her, you need to be careful, else Starrick will have a perfectly _legal_ reason to see you swing from the gallows.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Freddie,” Jacob replied, glancing around himself. “You should go, before we draw any suspicion upon ourselves.”

Freddie nodded, watching around them as he returned to the rest of his detail, while Jacob melted into the shadows.

He started heading back towards the train, thinking about Freddie’s warning. Would Evie be connected to the kidnapping as well, or was it only him that fell under suspicion? If he wasn’t careful, the entire plan might go belly-up – and he didn’t want to consider what might happen if that were to occur.

“We need to write another letter to Starrick,” he said, as soon as he was on board the train. As expected, Henry and Lyanna were seated in the booth, having a lovely old chat, but they both looked up at his entry.

“What’s he done?” Lyanna asked, her resolve hardening visibly. “If he’s sent people after you—”

“He went to the police,” Jacob replied, “Gave them a tip-off, apparently.”

“That doesn’t sound very much like Starrick,” Henry remarked, “Are you certain it was him?”

“Who else knows that she’s here?” Jacob asked, gesturing to Lyanna. “Nigel, Agnes, us three—”

“And any Rooks who saw us the other night,” Lyanna finished.

“No, that’s just not possible,” Jacob shook his head, “They wouldn’t betray us, not when we’re trying to make their lives better.”

“Careful, Jacob,” Lyanna warned him, “You’re starting to sound an awful lot like Starrick did when he was younger.”t

“Let us first deal with Starrick going behind our backs,” Henry spoke up, “Then we can figure out where the tip-off came from.”

“I’m certain it was Starrick,”

“Even _he’s_ not that stupid,” Lyanna rolled her eyes, turning to Henry. “I need paper and a pen. We need to get working on this now.”

“Do you expect me to write to him as well?” Jacob asked as Henry passed a sheet of paper and pen to Lyanna. She shook her head.

“Let him feel only fear for his niece,” she replied, “If you write as well, then he will have someone to direct his anger at, and anger is just a cloak to hide one’s fear.”

“Such wisdom,” Henry remarked, “How do you intend to follow up on the promise of harming yourself, though?”

“Leave that to me,” Lyanna replied. Jacob watched as she quickly wrote the letter, her haste making her penmanship sloppy, with ink blots here and there. As she wrote, he noticed her facial expression change to one of fear. He had never been one for sneaking around or using disguises, but now he wondered how some people managed it, managed to play out a role so convincingly that they fooled even the people who thought they were closest to them.

“I don’t think it should be Jacob who hands this off,” she stated, folding the letter and sealing it with her ring, “Too much risk of him being noticed or recognised.”

“I can give a bunch of bobbies the slip,” he rolled his eyes, but Lyanna shook her head.

“No. Best you stay here. We can get Nigel to deliver it off.”

 _Just who do you think is running this show?_ Jacob bit his tongue as Lyanna stood up, leaving the letter on the table. “I’ll be back in just a moment – I have something we can send to him as the “warning” thing.”

As she slipped out of the car, Jacob looked down at the letter. The wax hadn’t yet set, and he opened it.

_Uncle Crawford_

_They’ve found out that you went to the police, and now Mr. Frye is furious. I don’t know what he intends to do, but I am afraid. Please, do not do anything further. He has told me that I must write to you, as you will know my handwriting, but I am shaking so much that it is coming out all messy. Please don’t do anything further._

_If I do not return, know that I love you very much. You have been like a father to me in these past years. I pray that we might see each other again._

_May the Father of Understanding guide us, Uncle._

_Lyanna_

“Here it is!”

Lyanna had returned, carrying a small leather pouch, as Jacob hurriedly closed the letter and pressed the edges of the wax seal down. He had barely finished before Lyanna took the letter from him, wrapping it and the pouch in plain brown paper and tying it off with string.

“I’m sure I can leave the delivery to you guys,” she stated, dropping the parcel on the table, “Just make sure it’s delivered quickly. Now, I’m going to retire; I’ll be in my compartment if anyone needs me.”

 _We won’t call_ , Jacob thought to himself as she turned and strode away. Something was… odd about her. He looked over at Henry.

“I’m not the only one that thought that was strange, am I?”

Henry looked thoughtful, eyes fixed on the ground, but they snapped up to look at Jacob when he spoke. Slowly, Henry shook his head.

“She slept very late today, too,” he commented, “I do not see how she could be tired so early. Did you see her hand?”

Jacob frowned. “No?”

“It was bandaged, like she had hurt herself,” Henry explained, “A very rough job, but she was trying to keep it hidden.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t bandaged before she disappeared,” Jacob stated. Henry shook his head. “You think it’s another blood vial?”

“I am not sure what it might be,” Henry admitted, “But, well, she is masterminding her own kidnapping, so perhaps we should simply do as she recommends, at least for now.”

“It sounded more like she was giving orders,” Jacob replied, “But… I suppose, if she has a way of keeping Starrick off our backs, we should take the suggestions, at least until something better comes along.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we think is in the leather pouch she's sending to Starrick?


	14. Chapter 14

Lucy Thorne was tiring of seeing her employer show such a level of weakness.

These bastard Assassin's had to know, of course; they wouldn't have targeted the girl on a mere off-chance that they'd deal such a crippling blow - just as she was certain the filth had known about Crawford's attachment to Attaway.

And now, he held another letter, sealed with a Templar ring, and a small leather pouch.

"Open it, Crawford," she urged, "Do not let them hold power over you like this."

His hands fumbled with the drawstring securing the pouch, untying the knot and tipping the bag up. Something pale fell out, rolling across the desk and stopping right at the edge.

Lucy had seen her fair share of horrific things, investigating the occult as she did, but this...

"Hers?" Crawford asked with a shaking voice, reaching out, hand hovering above the bloodied digit. Lucy swallowed back her bile and disgust, offering her handkerchief to Crawford to pick up the thing.

They had sent him a finger.

"Smallest finger, it would seem," Lucy stated, inspecting it once both of their disgust had settled. "Recently removed - likely after she was bade to write the letter."

"It's the right skin tone," Crawford added. "I'm certain it belongs to her."

"They must have ties within the police,"

"Disturbing knowledge, certainly," Crawford stood up, folding the handkerchief over the detached finger, "But the more disturbing thing to consider, it was not I who spoke with the police. I merely informed them of the disappearance."

He turned, crossing to the fireplace, where he stood utterly still, watching the flames. Despite the apparent composure, Lucy could tell he was inches from having that composure shattered.

"A finger is far less to lose than one's life," she reassured him, "And when we obtain the Shroud, all wounds she may have obtained in the "care" of those cretins can and will be healed."

"We must first obtain the Shroud," Crawford pointed out. "Have you made any progress?"

"Yes," Lucy nodded. Good, back to business. Not that she didn't care for this girl, but it was proving to be a distraction from their main plan. "I believe it to be in the Tower of London. I will go there immediately - and I will lay a trap for any Assassins that might think to meet me there."

"No,"

"Pardon, sir?"

"No traps," Crawford said, "Unless you can be certain of capturing both of them."

"The trap is not intended to kill, sir," Lucy reassured him, "If they can take a hostage, so too, can we."

Crawford seemed to consider this for a few more moments, still staring into the flames, before slowly nodding.

"If you can be certain of it, do it," he replied. "But make sure it is done right, Miss Thorne."

As if she would do it any other way.

Once she was gone, the composure cracked. Starrick sized a vase off the mantelpiece and, in one fluid motion, hurled it at the wall. It shattered, the small pieces breaking further once they hit the ground.

He needed to get Lyanna back, or get someone into their damned base or wherever they were keeping her. He needed eyes and ears on those bastards, so that he didn't have to rely on letters and-- and "gifts", like the one still laying on his desk.

Miss Thorne was right. The Shroud would heal her body; but could it heal the poor girl's mind as well? Or was it too late, the almost-childlike naivety gone forever?

Starrick rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to come up with a plan. How could he make any sort of move, when they might react so violently? How could he, at the very least, tell them he wasn't the one who had provided the tip-off? He wasn't even certain what this bloody Frye man looked like - all he had to rely on were descriptions from those who had survived his various attacks. Dark hair, stylish clothing - that could be anyone in this damnable city.

Starrick gripped the mantel with both hands, bracing himself against it as he exhaled slowly. Control; he needed to gain some sort of control of this situation. But how?

_If they can take hostages, so can we..._

Miss Thorne's words floated through his mind once more. Yes; those Frye twins were leaders of the Rooks. Would they come running if their precious gang members were being taken, one by one?

Or would they instead target Lyanna?

He couldn't rely on Miss Thorne's plan to trap one of the twins themselves; the devils were too slippery. No, he would do this himself, using rival gangs and Blighters. The violence would explode into the streets, and the common man would flee, but he would have a word to his factory bosses, about permitting sanctuary to workers who were afraid of going home.

Perhaps, this could work to his advantage in more ways than one. Offer his working people safety, manipulating the people into believing him to be the better leader of this place, while reducing the number of accursed Rooks in the streets.

And hopefully, Lyanna would not carry the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell, I know you weren't ready for that.
> 
> Been trying to get some writing done on my phone, so chapter length might be a little shorter here and there.


End file.
